The Pokepast
by Kanto Touch This
Summary: Before technology like PCs and Pokeballs, Pokemon served other purposes throughout history... (A series of short stories, no chronological order)
1. Making Tracks

William Taylor threw up his hands, frustrated that he seemed to be losing the argument. "But I've got a family to feed! What'll we do?"

Mr. Larson shook his head. "And I'm right sorry for that, Bill, mighty sorry," He tapped the ash off the end of his cigar. "But business is business, you know. We can't afford to keep you on like this when all the other railroads are switchin' to the cheaper alternative. We gotta keep up!"

Taylor glared daggers at the business man and climbed out of the cab of the train, swearing and wiping the ever-present soot from his face. Being a stoker wasn't exactly cushy, but it was a steady job and it had been his for almost four years now. He spat angrily. It wasn't fair.

On the other hand…

He wouldn't have to bear the excruciating heat every day, the overwhelming noise that almost made him think he was laboring in the depths of Hell. He wouldn't have to strain his arms and back constantly throwing coal into an eternally hungry furnace just to keep the schedule. He wouldn't have to wear bandanas over his mouth and nose, trying not to breathe too hard, lest he choke on the black dust that hung forever in the air.

He straightened his sore back and quickened his pace. It might take a while, but he'd find a job somewhere else...whatever it was, it had to be better than the one he was leaving behind.

Back in the engine, Larson placed a small turtle inside the furnace and pushed a pile of coal in front of it, careful not to get his suit dirty. Then he straightened up and chuckled, taking a hearty puff of his cigar as he watched the turtle maneuver a chunk of coal onto its shell.

"Yessir," He said to himself. "Gotta keep up."

The torkoal released a small cloud of steam.


	2. Sister Suffragette

Abigail took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and kept walking, trying her best to ignore the jeers from the sidewalks. She tried to smile, but between the six blocks they had already marched and the practically constant barrage of insults, it was all she could do not to cry. She looked over at one of her sisters in arms, who winked at her and gave her a small thumbs up.

Abigail faced front again, hoisting her sign _Votes For Women Now_ a little higher, arms aching from holding the heavy plywood. Still, she had known what she was signing up for and she didn't regret it a bit. The cause was worth it. Dammit, she would make sure her daughters could have rights even if her arms fell off!

The women holding the banner in front of her stopped abruptly and it was all she could do not to bump into them. By standing on tiptoe and craning her neck, Abigail could just barely see what was going on at the front of the procession.

Two policemen stood next to a patrol car with its back doors open threateningly. One of the officers stood with his arms folded while the other shouted through a megaphone. The words were unclear from that distance, but Abigail caught "disturbing the peace" and other garbled accusations. The girls around her stiffened - a lot of them had been in prison before and didn't care to repeat the experience.

"Officer," A young woman broke the ranks and shouted over the hubbub. "I believe there has been a misunderstanding. If you allow me to explain, I'm sure we can reach an agreement."

The policeman grinned. "Sorry, sweetheart, much as I'd like that, I'm afraid you'll have to - "

He trailed off as he saw the other figure parting the crowd. A huge machoke, in a form-fitting leotard instead of the typical briefs, joined the young woman and cracked its knuckles.

The policeman swallowed hard. His partner slowly uncrossed his arms and closed the back doors of the paddywagon. The megaphone, shaking slightly, came up once more. "Um...Carry on, ladies."

Abigail smiled for the first time that day.


	3. Hoofbeats

A stantler raised its head and pricked its ears. After a second, it turned and fled, followed by a few buneary.

The hoofbeats grew louder and then burst into the clearing, kicking up dust and grass as they slowed. The rapidash snorted and pawed the ground impatiently, as its rider adjusted position carefully. The trick was not noticing the fire...it wasn't actually hot, but if you started to think too hard about it, it was difficult not to panic.

Kilchii patted his steed's flank gently, murmuring comforting words. He had captured her as a young ponyta colt and she was barely any tamer now than the day he had first seen her, galloping so fast she was just an orange and white blur.

After a minute or so, the rest of the hunting party caught up with them, riding on ponytas and keldeos. They were all fast, but none of them could keep up with Kilchii and rapidash.

They went more slowly now, much to the chagrin of their mounts, trying to make as little noise as possible. Kilchii rode a little ahead and steadied the bow and quiver on his back. As he emerged out of the trees onto the edge of a high bluff, he could see a herd of bouffalants on the plains below, grazing calmly and shaking their horns at the occasional fly.

A slow smile spread across the champion warrior's lips. The village would eat well tonight.


	4. PokePlunder

The commodore lowered the spyglass. "Pirates, if I've ever seen them," He handed the telescope to a nearby crewman. "Never mind what flag they're flying. No one in the Royal Navy would sail such a tub."

A few men exchanged nervous glances. "Should...should we open fire, sir?"

"I think not," The officer turned sharply on his heel away from the rail. "We're faster than she is and we've got better firepower. We'll deal with her if she ever catches up." And with that, he strode to his quarters.

(-o-)

The first mate lowered the spyglass. "Captain, ye may want ta take a look at this."

Captain Aston snatched it and raised it to his eye. A quarter league away, some of the navy sailors were making rude gestures in his direction and laughing themselves sick. The calm sea breezes carried some of their taunts to his ear and he reddened with anger.

"'Where's my _chatot_?'!" He exclaimed, throwing down the spyglass. "They think I carry a bloody _bird_ on my shoulder?" He began muttering furiously to himself.

"What're yer orders, Cap'n?" The first mate stood carefully out of kicking range, lest Aston's anger become violent. "We can't catch up to 'er, not at this rate, anyway."

The corners of the captains mouth twitched upwards in the beginning of a smile. "No. _We_ can't."

Carefully, deliberately, he pulled his honedge out of his belt and whispered a few words. Then he let go of the hilt and it sped toward the larger ship, blue cloth flickering in time with the waves.

It took only a minute or so until the pirates could hear the sounds of battle carried over on the wind. It was only a minute or so after that that the sword floated back into Aston's waiting hand.

An entire navy vessel had been defeated by one blade.

Aston wiped the honedge on a corner of his shirt, staining it red, before tucking it back into his belt. "Imagine," He chuckled. "A chatot on my shoulder." He kept chuckling, watching the still ship as the distance closed between them.


	5. Blooming

Beth Denning wrung her hands nervously, unable to restrain her fidgeting anymore. Her corset was suffocating, her shoes were too tight and the pins in her head kept sticking into her scalp like needles - not to mention the fact that her heart was beating at least twice its usual speed.

"Keep still," Her mother admonished as Beth squirmed in her seat. "They'll be here soon enough."

As soon as she spoke the words, there was a sharp _ratatat_ on the front door. Beth anxiously started to smooth her wrinkle-free skirt and her heart sped up even more as she heard the butler's footsteps echo across the marble floor.

"Lord and Lady Ainsley."

Mrs. Denning gave her daughter a small nod, indicating that it was time to rise. With a rustle of skirts, Beth did so, letting out a small sigh of relief. The corset was more bearable when she was standing.

"Welcome!" Mrs. Denning greeted her guests with a broad smile and a brief curtsy. "My husband is in the drawing room. Shall we join him?"

Lord Ainsley, a tall man with a large mustache, looked to his wife, an equally tall, but somewhat plumper woman, who nodded. They followed their hostess across the foyer and through a door.

Beth made to go too, when she noticed that Nathaniel had not joined them. He still stood in front of the door, with a lopsided smile and one hand behind his back.

So this was the man she was to marry.

He wasn't handsome, nor homely, just...average looking. Tall, like his parents, but slender, even skinny with exceptionally pale skin. After examining him for a minute, his sideways smile made her giggle. He seemed awkward, but then, so was she.

He brought his hand out from behind his back and produced a bouquet of white flowers. "I brought these. Don't tell my father...I spent more money than I'd like him to know." Then he blushed faintly, ashamed at bringing up the subject of money.

Beth smiled reassuringly at him and took the flowers gratefully. _White roses...for marriage. And lilies for virtue. And..._She took a closer look and laughed out loud.

Nestled in the middle of the arrangement was a tiny flabebe, clinging to the top of one of the lilies. It turned its eyes up at her and blinked warmly, adjusting itself slightly in the petals.

Beth looked at Nathaniel. On further examination, he really was quite handsome.

He offered his arm. She took it and they walked to the drawing room together.


	6. A Different Kind Of Battle

Darius cracked his knuckles and set his jaw, trying to hide his uneasiness. He knew he shouldn't have bragged, but after all, he _was _stronger than all the other boys he knew and he could even take on a few adults. But the agoge was all about strict discipline and Spartans were not supposed to be arrogant.

"So you think you're the best fighter, hmm?" His mentor had smiled at him, not unkindly, but not sympathetically either. "Prove it."

So now Darius stood in a makeshift ring, tensing himself for the trial.

After a few minutes, he heard the small crowd's murmurs swell as his opponent entered the other side of the ring. It was a lucario, scarred and old, missing half of one ear and a couple of toes. Nevertheless, the spikes on the back of its wrists were razor-sharp and its muscles rippled beneath its skin. Darius narrowed his eyes apprehensively, wondering which way the fight would go.

Suddenly, the lucario lunged forward and swiped at him, catching him across the chest and sending him toppling to the ground. Darius rolled away from the next blow, mind racing. _It stays on its toes. That means it'll probably be faster, no matter what I do. _He rolled again and twisted to his feet, curling his hands into fists.

The lucario dodged his punches and slashed back at him with the spikes on its paws, cutting his shoulder deeply. Hurt and disoriented now, Darius held a hand over his wound, trying to stem the blood and kick the lucario down at the same time. But the lucario caught his foot and twisted, sending shocks of pain up Darius' leg and causing the boy to slam to the ground once more.

Then the lucario was standing over him, dreadlocks standing on end and a ball of blue light slowly growing between its paws. Darius shot a panicked look at his mentor, who smirked. The boy had had enough.

He whistled two low notes and a skarmory swooped out of a nearby tree, crashing headlong into the lucario. The flying attack had taken the fighter by surprise and it went down easily, unconscious, but unhurt.

Darius struggled to his feet, still clutching his wounded shoulder. A couple of the other boys laughed and though his cheeks burned, he didn't say a word.

"Still think you're the best, boy?" His mentor snickered.

Darius shook his head, but he made a mental promise to _become_ the best. The very best.


	7. The Grepa Berries of Wrath

Howard Parsons clutched the brim of his hat, twisting it in his hands. "So, you see, my family and me was fixing to move west, on account of us losing the farm and everything and we can't just bring ol' Bessie with us and we need the money awful bad…"

Hogan spat out his tobacco and appraised the old man standing in front of him. A typical Okie type...worn, leathery face, scraggly beard, dirty clothes...someone it'd be easy to fool. A stray meowth curled around his legs and the miltank he was trying to sell stood languidly grazing nearby.

"I can give you five dollars for her." Hogan stretched lazily.

Parsons' eyes widened. "You can't be serious!"

"All right, all right, seven fifty, but that's as high as I'm going."

Parsons began turning his hat, white knuckles bending the brim. "I - I know she's a little skinny, but have a heart! She's still young and she gives real good milk, you know."

"That's my final offer." The trader tried to suppress his smile. The old coot didn't have anywhere else to turn! Hogan would get the miltank, all right, and make a pretty penny on the deal too.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" Parsons pleaded.

Hogan shook his head.

"Then I ain't got a choice," Howard's voice lost its quaver and he set his hat firmly on his head. "Meowth - Pay Day!"

The meowth, who had been purring and grooming itself just a minute before, snarled and leapt at Hogan, knocking him over and sending his money purse flying.

Parsons knelt and counted fifteen coins into his lap. "That should pay for Bessie," He said, straightening again and tossing the purse next to Hogan's groaning form. "I'm awful sorry about that, but times is hard."

He started walking back home, whistling quietly and smiling down at his meowth.

Maybe times wasn't so hard after all.


	8. Picture Perfect

Marigold dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, smearing her makeup and smudging the dainty white cloth with black. "That horrid war!" She sobbed into her hands. "How could they do this to me?"

The maid who was dusting nearby, slipped out of the room. Though the mistress was wracked with grief, she didn't take kindly to servants trying to console her. The words she uttered were for her own ears…after being alone in this house for so long, she had developed the habit of talking to herself.

Marigold didn't notice the maid's disappearance and picked up a photograph. "Oh, Andrew…" She whispered to the picture of the handsome man within the frame. "Why did you have to go? Why did you have to leave me?"

The photograph was silent.

"I miss you, you know," She crooned in her Southern drawl. "I've visited you every day, did you know that? I've even planted some pretty flowers on…" She choked on her tears, unable to say the word "grave".

"Do you miss me too, darling?" Her face brightened as if the photograph had replied. "I knew you would. And do you know what? I've figured a way for us to be together again! Isn't that wonderful?"

Again, the photograph said nothing.

"Now, just wait right there." Marigold put the picture down gingerly and turned her back, fetching something from a cabinet. When she turned around, she held a small, pink blob in her lily-white hands. She set it down next to the photograph and stepped back.

"Transform," She breathed.

The blob began to stretch and morph, growing up towards the ceiling and outwards towards the walls. Unable to watch the spectacle, Marigold shut her eyes tightly and put her hands in front of her face, as if warding off a blow.

After a minute, she opened her eyes cautiously.

Andrew stood before her, tall and virile in his lieutenant's uniform, exactly as he was in the photograph.

A slightly hysterical smile spread across Marigold's face. The face was a bit off...but she could get used to that.

"Oh, Andrew, how I've missed you!" She cried, running forward to throw herself into his arms.

Andrew smiled and held her tight. "Ditto."


	9. The War of the Regions

The radio sputtered to life in a series of staticky buzzes. An orchestra was playing a slow melody when they were suddenly cut off by an announcer.

"We interrupt this music hour for another special bulletin. We have received more information about the mysterious object that has landed outside of the capital. Joining us here at the studio is Professor Pine, a world-renowned scientist and the leading authority in astrophysics."

Another voice, slightly more nasal, broke in. "Hello."

"Professor, what has your team discovered about the object?"

"Well, the metal that it's made from is like nothing we've ever seen before and likely extraterrestrial in origin. Quite possible it was a...meteorite of some kind, though usually they burn up in the atmosphere."

"Does it carry any sort of...threat? Bacteria, perhaps?"

"Not to our knowledge. We shall continue our studies, however, and keep the public informed on our findings."

"Thank you Professor. And now, back to Freddie Gibbs and his orchestra."

The music began again. After a few minutes, long enough for a new song to start, the announcer broke in. "We interrupt once again for more breaking news. I'm now standing next to the mysterious object, right in front of the capital building. Police have roped off the area and there's a small crowd forming to observe the unusual phenomenon. It is oblong in shape and...gray, metallic gray. Though the material looks like nothing I've ever seen, it - "

Gasps and murmurs from the crowd mingled with unidentifiable noises through the static. "Ladies and gentlemen," The announcer spoke in an excited, almost panicked whisper, "Some sort of hatch has opened in the object, indicating that it is probably a vessel of some kind. Wait! Something...something is emerging from the hatch...oh! It's...it's...unspeakable!"

The gasps grew louder and the murmurs crescendoed into shouts. "A...being has stepped out of the vessel," The announcer raised his voice in order to narrate above the hubbub. "A being...like nothing here on Earth! What could it want from us?"

There was a scream and then the noise of the crowd abruptly stopped. A different announcer's voice, much calmer, spoke. "Folks, this is only a play. A dramatic fabrication. Any similarity to persons or events is entirely coincidental."

Deoxys turned off the radio with a deep chuckle. Its eyes narrowed and if it had had a mouth, it would have turned up in a smile.

_It was only a play...for now._


	10. Silc

The birds twittered in the trees and the sun shone on the round pool, creating reflections of rainbows - in other words, a simply irresistible day. It would be a shame to spend it indoors.

The young woman picked up her tea and picked her way along the path to a small table in the shade of a leppa berry tree. Tucking her skirts underneath her, she knelt next to the table and set her steaming teacup down.

She waited for it to cool, glancing around the garden with a small smile. It certainly was beautiful...the magikarp splashed gaily in the pool, the gentle breeze ruffled the leaves and the flowers bloomed in brilliant colors. She didn't come out here enough..._I should do it more often._

Suddenly she heard a small _plop _and turned to see her tea rippling as if something had just fallen into it. With a frown, she tipped her cup to try and see what it was.

A silcoon sat at the bottom of the cup, glaring up at her with its red eyes.

_It must have fallen from the tree_. She thought, reaching her fingers into the cup to try and get it out. It was harder than she thought, though...the tea was still very hot and the silcoon was difficult to get out - it kept disintegrating into long stringy threads.

Finally, she retrieved it in one piece and set it back on a tree branch where it sat soaked, but unharmed. She turned back to her tea and began picking the strands of gossamer out of the cup. As she felt their softness and tested their strength, she smiled to herself. It would make an excellent clothing material.

And what better name for it than the pokemon it came from?


	11. Going Hungry

Quinn leaned on the rail of the ship, watching sadly as the shore became merely a speck in the distance. He hadn't wanted to leave, but now he doubted he could ever return. The famine had become too terrible, circumstances too desperate. Perhaps, in his new home, he could forget about the hardships he had faced and provide well for his family.

Unable to muster any optimism, he let out a long, melancholy sigh. His young daughter, standing next to him, looked up at him curiously and then followed his gaze to the ever-shrinking land and let out a little sigh of her own.

Quinn smiled and picked her up, feeling a small pang of sorrow when he felt how skinny she was. He balanced her on his hip and together they watched their home retreat into the horizon.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Will things be better now, Papa?"

He finally managed to pull his eyes away from the all-but-invisible shore and turned away from the rail. "Well, they'll be better than they have been, you can bet your boots on that." He spoke brightly, trying to mask his own misgivings.

"We won't be hungry anymore?"

He hesitated. "...No. No, we won't be hungry anymore."

"Why were we so hungry?" Her round eyes gazed solemnly up into his.

He shifted her in his arms, holding her a bit tighter. "There wasn't any food, sweetheart. None to be found."

"Why?"

"We don't know. No one does." Then, to get her mind off the subject, he grinned mischievously and began to tickle her. Her laughter rang out above the hubbub of the ship and Quinn began to cheer up a bit. Things _would_ be better now.

(-o-)

Back at Quinn's abandoned farm, a bush rustled curiously, interrupting the stillness of the field. Two small ears emerged from the shrub, followed by two eyes, which glanced around to ensure there was no one about. Convinced it was alone, a teal shape streaked out of the bush, moving almost too fast to be seen and speeding towards the practically-freshly tilled dirt. After digging for a few minutes, it at last found what it was looking for.

The munchlax plopped down contentedly and began to eat the potato.


	12. Veni, Vici

The fire crackled loudly, sending up huge clouds of black smoke that darkened the otherwise sunny day. One could easily tell the path it had traveled by the charred husks of buildings it left in its wake, the smoldering remnants of furniture and the people standing on the streets, staring bleakly at the ruins. Though it had moved, it had far from retreated...it seemed to be growing with every passing hour.

The emperor watched with bored concern. At first,it had been exciting, but it had been burning for three days now and the novelty had worn off.

"Look at those poor wretches," He gestured down to a bedraggled family, salvaging what they could out of what used to be their house. "Lucky that the fire is too intimidated to try and attack the palace, hmm?"

His kricketune bowed a note of agreement.

He adjusted his toga slightly. "It's only right, of course. Citizens expect that kind of authority."

There was another musical affirmation.

"Perhaps they could use some music in this dark time…and there's no reason why we should be so bored..." He picked up his violin and plucked the strings, then looked to his kricketune. "Shall we?"

The kricketune played a few slow notes and after a minute, the emperor joined in. They played a sweet, sad melody, one that seemed to sweep up from the very ground and envelop them in an embrace. They were both so captivated by their own song, neither noticed the boos and jeers from beneath their balcony, people shouting their disbelief that their ruler could be so carefree at a time like this.

When they had at last finished their duet, the emperor grinned. "I came, I saw, I played the violin."


	13. The Fourth

"No one will be the first to sign? ...No one? Very well, you cowards, I'll do it."

Quivering with excitement, the quill scratched across the parchment, curving loops underneath the huge signature. It was dipped in the inkwell and passed around from hand to hand, some shaky, some steady, but all thrilled to be playing such a vital role in the document they were signing.

_An end to oppression_…

In another part of the city, a few blocks away from the muggy courthouse and the frenzy of emotion within, a young man leaned against a supporting beam of the bell tower, rolling up his sleeves and waving away a few flies. A noise behind him made him turn and behold a fine gentleman, red-faced from the heat of the sealed courtroom and from his hurried walk through the busy streets. After a hurried conversation, the gentleman made his way back down the stairs and the young man rolled his sleeves up even further, grinning.

He crossed to the main part of the tower and prepared himself, waiting. From his high vantage point, he could see the exact moment the door of the courthouse opened and several men appeared, clustering around one that was holding a roll of parchment. Only when the men crossed to the middle of the street and looked in his direction expectantly, did he turn to the victreebel.

It was old and battle-scarred, a long gash reaching from its mouth almost all the way to the top...bottom of its head. It was hard to tell which it was when it was upside down like this. The young man whispered a few words to it and stepped back, covering his ears.

"**...BEL...BEL...BEL…**"

The noise enticed a crowd to gather in front of the men below and as one of them began to read from the parchment, another smiled and winked up at the bell tower.

The young man smiled back, resting his hand on the victreebel's side. It would forever be remembered as the bel that brought them liberty.


	14. The Theory of Eeveelution

**A/N: This is actually 8 chapters - one for each eeveelution - condensed into one. I thought it might be a little easier this way. The stories are in the same format and don't follow any particular order except the order in which each eeveelution appeared. I did all of them except eevee itself, I'll probably work that in later. Enjoy!**

* * *

**WATER**

Palmer watched Felix with concern as the two hauled in the nets. His friend seemed pale and drawn, even though he had insisted he was strong enough to work. Perhaps he hadn't quite gotten over his seasickness yet...or his fever. In any case, he had reason to be cautious. The ship was sailing halfway around the world, it was no journey for the faint of heart.

Felix caught him staring and Palmer looked away, pretending to be concentrating on the nets full of fish.

Felix frowned. He could tell Palmer was worried about him. Just because he had been sick for a couple of days, there was no reason for the crew to pity him. And to put on fishing duty when he should be up in the crow's nest was the ultimate insult. He ached to feel the wind in his hair and to breathe in the fresh sea breezes rather than the sweat-tinged atmosphere of the deck.

As they finally hoisted the nets on board, a sudden movement caught his eye. There, among the orange magikarp...a flash of blue? But there were too many fish moving too erratically and he couldn't be sure.

Palmer clapped a hand on his shoulder, snapping it out of his reverie. Felix shrugged it off, irritated, and started dragging the net to the galley.

The cook greeted him as he came in. "Ah, fish! Just in time, we was starting to run out of rats!"

Felix forced a laugh, not sure if it was really a joke or not.

Then - there it was again. A flash of blue, a long, elegant tail studded with darker scales...a beautiful sight among all the homely fish.

"A mermaid…" He breathed.

The cook's brow furrowed...the boy's fever must be spiking again. "I'll go get Simon, shall I? You stay right there." Simon was the closest thing the ship had to a medical man, he'd know what to do.

Felix didn't seem to hear, didn't seem to notice as the door opened and closed. He grabbed a knife and cut the net open, spilling the now-lifeless magikarp to the floor and revealing the trapped beauty.

The vaporeon stretched and preened, fanning out the fins around its face and curling its exquisite tail carefully around its paws. Felix smiled. Not exactly the mermaid he had thought, but beautiful all the same.

"Come on," He held out his arms. "Before you're tonight's stew."

It let him pick it up without struggling and carefully, he made his way back on deck, keeping to the rail and trying not to be seen. Leaning over the rail, he dropped it gently and with a small splash it was gone. It had seemed to practically melt into the water.

Footsteps behind him made him turn to see Simon and Palmer running towards him. Simon put a hand on his forehead while Palmer asked breathlessly, "What? What happened?"

"I saw a mermaid." Felix replied simply.

"His temperature's normal," Simon removed his hand.

"Ain't no mermaids out here…" Palmer said softly, trying to be reassuring and failing. "I should know."

Felix smiled. They wouldn't understand.

* * *

**ELECTRIC**

"So...ah, Mr - "

"Call me Tom," The inventor placed the tea tray on one of the few vacant spaces in the laboratory and sat down across from the reporter. "It's what all my friends call me."

The reporter smiled. "All right, Tom, our readers are all dying to know what sort of miraculous machine you've got up your sleeve this time."

Tom crossed his legs, smiling rakishly at the attractive young woman. "Well, Miss Chambers, it's not exactly new. I've simply made some modifications on some of my lighting systems." He gestured to the intricate chandelier above their heads. Though gorgeous, wires stuck out in odd places, indicating it wasn't quite finished.

"Fascinating…" Miss Chambers murmured, scribbling furiously in her notebook. "How does it work?"

He laughed. "I'm afraid if I took the time to explain that, you'd be here until Tuesday."

Her smile became a bit fixed. The inventor was handsome, but modesty wasn't exactly his strong suit. "Well, can you give me a brief summary, perhaps?"

"Certainly!" He hopped out of his chair and spread his arms theatrically. "It's power, you see, harnessing power. Harnessing electricity is no different than harnessing a horse to a cart. And with my method - "

_His plagiarized method,_ She thought.

" - Soon every household will have access to this incredible power!" He finished his melodramatic speech. "And it's all thanks to this." He patted a gray box.

Her pen paused on the page. "And what's that?"

"Oh, a power source, wires and magnets and things," He waved his hand nonchalantly. "Too complicated for the average layman to understand. Now, I do hope this has been informative, I wouldn't want to disappoint your readers."

Miss Chambers stood up and allowed him to kiss her hand. "Yes, I think I've...learned a lot."

He held the door for her and waited until she was safely around the corner before locking the door behind her and opening the gray box gingerly.

Upon seeing his face, the jolteon inside growled loudly and its already spiky fur stood even more on end. It tugged at the small chain around its neck that anchored it so it could hardly move. The more it struggled, the more its fur stood up and the brighter the chandelier above grew.

Tom smiled and closed the box.

* * *

**FIRE**

The flareon felt itself roughly tossed onto a pile of something scratchy and prickly and heard a door close. Wriggling desperately, it finally managed to free itself from the sack and take a look at its surroundings. In a large barn, from the looks of it...bales of hay lined the walls, and an old miltank stared sleepily out of its stall, chewing its cud.

The flareon shook itself, sending bits of straw flying. It sat down and licked its paw daintily, rubbing in on its face to wash itself. The process got some of the leftover feathers off of its face - the henhouse had erupted in noise and brought the farmer running before the flareon had gotten even the taste of torchic. And now it was stuck in this barn until morning when it would undoubtedly be...dealt with.

It threw itself against the door a couple of times and, realizing the futility of this, snorted sparks in frustration. It sniffed around a little and eventually discovered a loose board in the back of the miltank's stall. Flattening itself out, the flareon struggled through the crack and then ran off into the night, giving the henhouse a wide berth.

The sparks it had emitted smoldered gently on the floor until they found a loose piece of hay and ignited quietly into a tiny flame…

(-o-)

Two days later, the sun rose on the smoldering remains of the great midwestern city. Blackened ruins, soggy from desperate attempts at extinguishing them, still smoked slightly, turning the otherwise clear sky a dingy gray. A crowd milled on the streets, unsure where to go or what to do.

"I heard it started on O'Leary's farm," A voice came from somewhere in the hubbub.

The farmer in question squirmed uncomfortably. "I...I reckon my miltank must've kicked over the lantern. Lotta hay around and it was all dry."

The explanation was accepted and the farmer was consoled by the others, assuring him it was an accident and he had done all he could.

On a small hill on the outskirts of town, the flareon licked its paw daintily.

* * *

**PSYCHIC**

The oracle took a deep breath, breathing in the strong, sweet scent and feeling herself getting slightly lightheaded. That was normal, though...it allowed her to speak more freely and besides, it made her look more mystical. People expected that.

"Show him in!" Her voice, if a tiny bit slurred, still echoed grandly off the walls.

A priest entered, escorting a tall, heavy-set man in fine clothes...probably a politician. They walked up to the altar, across from the oracle, where the priest bowed and exited, leaving the two by themselves.

"What have you come to ask of the mighty Apollo?" The oracle projected her voice so that it seemed booming and intimidating.

The politician dropped to his knees. "Pythia, I seek an answer to our struggles in Macedonia. Will our campaigns be successful? When - " He cut himself off, remembering the rule. One question only.

The oracle cast her eyes up to the ceiling as if looking to Apollo...though, in truth she was focusing on something perched on a rafter on the far side of the room, where all her predictions truly came from. The red gem on the espeon's forehead glowed dimly and its two-pronged tail swished back and forth in a series of complicated patterns. The oracle concentrated, memorizing and translating the motions in her head. Then she closed her eyes and moaned, deepening her voice and feigning a trance.

"A conqueror shall emerge from Macedonia," She intoned. "He shall be so mighty, he shall be remembered throughout history as "the great". He shall be remembered as a Greek."

She swayed a little and rolled her eyes back in her head for good measure before regaining her composure and looking down at the politician. "I trust Apollo has answered your inquiry?"

The politician nodded hurriedly, uttering his thanks a hundred times as he bowed his way out of the chamber.

There was a couple of thumps and then the espeon dropped gracefully to the altar. The oracle chuckled and stroked its fur. It was true that she didn't exactly speak to the sun god, but the sun pokemon was close enough, wasn't it?

* * *

**DARK**

Sarah struggled vainly against the ropes that tied her hands together and made one last plea. "Please! I'm not a witch, you can't do this!"

"Silence!" One of the men bellowed, his face unclear in the darkness. "That remains to be seen, bride of the devil!"

The reverend spread his hands and addressed the growing crowd by the light of his torch. "This woman stands accused of witchcraft! Many of you have been the victims of her black magic over the the past months, but your suffering is at an end! She will be cast into the purifying waters of the lake - if she sinks, she is pure and shall find her proper place in heaven. If she floats, than she truly is a witch and shall be dealt with accordingly. No more shall her evil powers plague this village!"

"I've never hurt a soul!" Sarah's voice was tinged with panic. "I have no powers!"

The reverend spun around to face her. "You lie!" He spat. "You have been practicing your dark arts for months with the help of that!" He stabbed a finger towards her umbreon, chained to a stake nearby.

"He's only a pet, he's never done anything!"

"Silence! Men, begin the trial."

Three of the men grabbed the girl and in a couple of steps, threw her into the depths of the pond. There was a large splash, a small shriek and then, nothing but ripples across the surface of the water.

A hush fell over the crowd and the reverend bowed his head. "May God rest her soul."

Someone gasped.

The reverend glanced up to see the umbreon's eyes begin to glow red and the rings around its ears and tail glow yellow. The chains that bound it glowed as well and after a second, snapped as if they were no stronger than twigs. It flattened its ears and hissed, the noise somehow morphing itself into words...and a very familiar voice. _Fools! Vengeance shall be mine!_

Then it streaked away, fading into the shadows of the moonlight.

* * *

**GRASS**

Wendy wiped sweat from her forehead, getting dirt on the bandana she had wrapped over her hair. She sat back on her heels to survey her progress and sighed. Pitiful.

All the posters and ads had huge color pictures of the glorious Victory Garden, but hers looked far from victory. It didn't help that it had been dry for a couple of weeks...the stems of her plants looked ready to crumble into dust at the slightest touch. It wasn't worth the patriotism to be pulling weeds all day, getting dirt permanently caked under her nails and not getting a single vegetable for her trouble. And then there were the pests…

She grabbed a dirt clod and hurled it at the leafeon who was digging in the next bed over. "Shoo!" She was too hot and sore to put up with that.

The leafeon turned and fled, flicking its tail as it disappeared.

Wendy lowered the trowel she had been about to fling next and sighed again. All the other women she knew had amazing gardens and always brought their salads and soups to picnics and church socials and she had been so eager to prove herself...But now it looked like she'd have to buy her produce from the store and deprive a few soldiers of their vegetables. "Sorry, boys," She touched a dry leaf.

There was a rustle behind her and she turned to see the same leafeon, rooting in a different part of the garden. "Hey!" She scrambled to her feet. What was wrong with that thing?

She advanced on it, but it kept digging, as if it didn't even notice her. It wasn't until she was reaching down to grab it by the scruff of its neck that it finally turned around and faced her.

In its mouth was a carrot. Not a very big carrot, but not terribly small either...and now it was offering it to Wendy, blinking up at her questioningly.

"Th-thank you," She gently took the carrot and the leafeon made a small chirrup and went back to digging, the plants around it seeming to somehow perk up a little bit.

She watched it, smiling as she watched its paws churn the dirt. Maybe victory wasn't as far from reach as she had thought.

* * *

**ICE**

The ice wagon rolled along slowly, rocking rhythmically back and forth, bumping gently over the cobblestones. The glaceon inside slid back and forth on the damp straw, terrified out of its wits. It had been enjoying itself in the frozen lake in the mountains when those men came with huge saws and tongs and loaded huge cubes of ice - and the glaceon - into this cart which had been trundling along for days now.

Suddenly, it lurched to a stop and the glaceon slammed into a wall, leaving a small frosty imprint. As it heard the back of the wagon open, it scurried behind a chunk of ice, its blue-white body camouflaging it perfectly. Just like before, loud voices and scrapes filled the air as the ice was unloaded. Why couldn't humans find a simpler way of keeping things cool?

Feeling the ice it was hiding behind lift into the air, the glaceon dug its claws into the slippery surface, closing its eyes and clinging for dear life. There was heat and light it could see behind its eyelids for a moment, then more movement and then coolness again, and dark. It didn't open its eyes again, however, until the movement and noise had stopped and everything was still. Only then did it dare to let out a small sigh. It had not been caught.

It pried its claws out of the ice and took a look at its surroundings. A dark building, with sunlight occasionally filtering in through a crumbling brick. The floor was dirt and there was a steep staircase leading up to a door...most of the building was probably underground. And, of course, there were stacks of ice all around, radiating cold and only occasionally dripping.

The glaceon turned in circles, taking it all in, including possible escape routes. It did like the dark and the cool, it was true, and there was a very faint smell of…

It scampered around a pile of ice and saw, hanging from the ceiling, great slabs of meat, salted and stored, enough to feed an entire army.

The glaceon smiled. It supposed it could stick around for a while.

* * *

**FAIRY**

Eloise's voice started loud and escalated to a shriek. "No, no, NO!" She threw the dress at the terrified saleswoman cowering in front of her. "Do you have anything in this shop that doesn't look like it was used as a washrag?!"

The clerk babbled apologies, gathering up the dress and hurrying into the back room to get another. Eloise ignored her, crossing her legs and tugging at a curl in irritation. If only she could afford to get one of those imported dresses...foreign fashions always seemed to be popular. But nooo, she had a budget for this ball and she had promised to adhere to it. She stood up with a huff.

"You," She snapped her fingers at the saleswoman, who had her arms full of dresses she hoped would be more pleasing. "Clearly, you have nothing here to interest me. You might make yourself useful by telling me places with decent merchandise."

The woman began stuttering, listing off every dress shop she could think of - except their competitors, of course. Eloise listened, bored, until a movement caught her eye. "What's that?"

The saleswoman followed her pointing finger to the sylveon sitting outside the door. "Oh," She said hurriedly. "Just a stray. I feed it sometimes. I assure you, it never comes anywhere near the - "

Eloise ignored her, creeping closer to the sylveon. "Such a pretty shade of pink...and those bows are so...elegant…" The sylveon took a step back, glancing fearfully at the saleswoman, as if asking for help.

Suddenly, Eloise straightened up. "Thank you," She said curtly. "I shall be taking my business elsewhere."

(-o-)

That night, Eloise received endless admiration of her dress, which she accepted smugly.

"You look like something out of a fairy tale!" One lady gushed.

Eloise ran her hand along the fur collar of the dress and smiled. "I suppose I do."


	15. Deserting the Desert

A gust of hot wind transformed the sand into tiny cyclones that slowly spun themselves out. Some grains were blown off the great stone pyramids by the breeze while others were picked up and came to rest where the others had been before. Apart from the wind, however, the desert was silent and still, the enormous stone monuments looming like sleeping giants.

Suddenly, however, there was movement.

On the statue of the sphinx, pitted and grooved from centuries of the abrasive winds and sands, a sort of...wiggling could be seen on the face of the mythical creature. The motion was so synchronized with the winds that it seemed as if the air itself was moving the immense stone.

Something dropped to the sands below. From such a great height, the fall took several seconds and the cloud of dust that resulted was immediately whisked away by the dry desert breeze.

All was still again. Though something was different about the sphinx...something seemed to be lacking. The wind blew around it, into a space it never had before.

Below the great monument, the nosepass stood up and shook the sand off of it. After so long in this unimaginable heat, it would be a relief to live in a more temperate climate.

It looked around for a second, then began jogging north.


	16. The Rush

Frawley swore under his breath. He had searched methodically through every single tiny pebble in his pan and there wasn't even a glitter. He tossed the rocks over his shoulder and glared down at the river, as if it had intended his failure. _Gold rush…_ He snorted. The only gold he had seen was the tarnished badge the sheriff wore at the local town and the jailhouse wasn't the best light to see it in. He spat into the rushing water, splashing his way to the bank. One more pan and he'd quit.

_I always say that._ He thought bitterly, scooping up the pebbles and sand from the riverbed. He shook it to get some of the bigger stones out and then combed through the sand and the small rocks with his fingers, searching in vain for even the tiniest hint of a glimmer.

Nothing.

He swore again, louder this time and threw the rocks back into the water, pan and all. He was done this time, he meant it. He packed what little he had into his rucksack and slung it over his shoulder, taking a deep breath before starting the trek into town.

As he walked, taking occasional sips from his canteen, he wondered what he could do now that he had given up on prospecting. He needed to pay off his tab at the saloon or he'd be in real trouble. Maybe he could get a job at the livery stable...or maybe he could gamble back some of the money he had already lost , he was a halfway decent poker player…

Lost in thought, the tip of his boot caught on something and sent him sprawling to the ground, the items clattering out of his pack. He cursed yet again, shouting so loud that his voice echoed off the canyon walls. After gathering up his things and making sure that no bones were broken, he whirled around to see what he had tripped on.

The golden geodude lay half submerged in the dusty ground, eyes glaring at Frawley, but fists buried and unable to attack. It glittered almost blindingly in the late afternoon sun.

"Shiny…" He breathed, mouth hanging open.

After a few minutes of frantic digging and a brief struggle, Frawley had the geodude in his pack, his other things completely forgotten. He whistled a cheery tune as he thought of all the drinks a nugget this big could buy.

In the pack, the geodude began to vibrate gently. Angry at being captured, it was acting on instinct, not thinking about its own safety...

It would rather self-destruct than lose its freedom.


	17. One Man's Trash is Another Mans Treasure

Eddie drew squiggles in the dust with his stick and let out a deep, melancholy sigh. "I never have no one to play with." He muttered disconsolately. All the other kids worked in the factories all day and he had to stay home with the grandmas and the babies. Not that he wanted to go to the factories - he knew how much the others hated them - but at least it would give him something to do.

He stood up, abandoning his stick and drawings and picked his way carefully down the alley. The whole tenement threw their trash down here and the he had to be wary when he played here, lest he get a bare foot full of broken glass. Sometimes, there would be some interesting piece of garbage, an old oven someone threw away maybe...that could entertain him for a whole afternoon.

But there was nothing like that today. He threw himself down on an old mattress, sighing again. "I hate being poor!" He shouted. There was no response, except for a couple of flies who buzzed away to a quieter perch. Furious at the general injustice of the world, Eddie began pummeling a garbage bag as if it was the sole reason he was so unhappy.

A small noise made him pause and cock his head. Was there an animal in the junk pile? He stopped his punching and leaned in for a closer look.

The dark green bag, tied at the top, but split at the sides, looked back at him with fearful eyes. It cringed slightly when Eddie reached towards it, as if expecting more beatings.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," The boy said softly, scooting a little closer. "I'm sorry I hit you, I didn't know you was a trubbish. I was just mad, 'cause I don't have nobody to play with. All my friends work all day."

The trubbish's eyes softened and it moved closer too.

"Do-do _you_ wanna be friends with me?"

The trubbish looked up and smiled with all its pointy teeth.

Eddie grinned back. With a friend, maybe being poor wasn't so bad after all.


	18. One Hit Wonder

"I hope this won't be like last time," Chet muttered, shouldering his guitar case. "I'm bloody exhausted."

"Just slip out fast, we'll be on the bus in a tick," Trace swept his eyes around the dressing room, making sure they didn't forget anything. The crew would get the speakers and the drums and stuff...they should be good to go. He glanced at his other bandmates,who were stifling yawns and swaying on their feet. They needed a break and bad…

"Come on," Trace pushed open the door, letting in a swell of noise that hit their ears like a force as they stepped outside the stage door. Security guards and policemen were struggling in vain to hold back a tide of fans, mostly girls, who were screaming and pressing forward at the sight of their idols. Many waved signs professing their adoration, others were waving autograph pads in the air, and still others were straining past the barriers to get a better look or even a touch of the stars.

For a few minutes, the band humored them, signing a few autographs, shaking a few hands, blowing a few kisses...but rather than calming the crowd, it seemed to incite them further and the shrieks of adulation only seemed to increase in volume.

"What do you think?" Trace shouted over the hubbub.

"I don't think there's any way around it!" Chet yelled back. "Earplugs in, mates!"

While the band fumbled with earplugs and Chet dug for something in his guitar case, Trace climbed onto a nearby trash can and addressed the crowd. "Who wants another song, then?"

The noise would have been deafening if they didn't have earplugs.

Chet passed the thing he had taken out of his case up to Trace and Trace held it high above the crowd. A hush fell over the fans as they stared quizzically at the jigglypuff in his hands.

Trace gave the jigglypuff a gentle squeeze. "Go on - sing!"

The band couldn't hear the song, of course, but they saw the fans' eyelids begin to droop, their waving arms fall listlessly to their sides and eventually, all the fans were curled up on the asphalt, snoring contentedly.

Chet pulled out his earplugs and nudged a sleeping security guard with his foot. "Rock and roll does take a hold of some people."

"Great job, jigglypuff," Trace climbed down and yawned. His throat felt sore from shouting over the fans, not to mention singing all night at the concert. "I think we just might want another of your songs on the bus."

The jigglypuff beamed. It loved getting encores.


	19. Tombs

Edmund Carpenter lifted his lantern a little higher, squinting through the darkness and brushing cobwebs off his clothes. _Do not fear the unknown_. He took a few tentative steps closer, trying not to disturb anything in the ancient tomb and drew in his breath. A sarcophagus lay in front of him, dusty but still magnificent, covered with intricate etchings of odd, black shapes. Carpenter set his lantern on top of the coffin and took his notebook out of his backpack. He could never carry the heavy stone out of the crypt, but he could at least copy down the symbols. He began to write, brushing dirt off of some of the more obscured carvings.

His fingers brushed something raised and he could hear a small click...

Suddenly, the walls surrounding him started to shake, dislodging dirt and pebbles that rained down on his head, extinguishing his lantern. Carpenter looked around wildly, diving behind the sarcophagus for protection. Larger pieces of stone fell dangerously near to him and there was an echoing _THUD_ as a huge piece of the ceiling was freed from its resting place. After another minute, the shaking and crumbling subsided and he cautiously peeked his head over the top of the coffin.

The hole in the ceiling had let enough light through for him to see the enormous block that had made the noise. It was trapezoidal, probably a keystone, with two small dots and a large crack from when it had fallen.

_Well, as long as it didn't hit me. _Carpenter got up, brushed dust and rubble off his notebook and turned back to his symbols. He had copied quite a few lines, enough to begin noticing the patterns of the letters when he heard a strange noise behind him. He turned slowly, wary for more traps.

A purplish light was emanating from the keystone, floating in midair and seeming to grin menacingly at him. Green orbs swirled within the purplish cloud, pulsing with energy and casting an eerie light on the half-destroyed walls, illuminating other creatures...creatures not unlike the symbols he had just been copying...creatures that began moving towards him…

The spiritomb let out a deep chuckle.

A scream echoed through the halls of the crypt.

Most people do fear the unown. For good reason.


	20. Night on the Trail

A gentle breeze ruffled the prairie grasses, sending ripples over the endless plains. Faith watched sleepily from the back of the wagon as her sister snored next to her. She liked when the wagon train stopped at night, even if it wasn't for very long. Everything seemed so peaceful...even the usually feisty tauros were tranquil, exhausted from pulling their enormous loads. It had been a long journey, and they still had far to go, but for now, it was nice to get some rest…

Her eyelids, which had been beginning to droop, flew open again as she heard a twig snap. Her lillipup, curled up next to her, lifted its head and pricked its ears. She put a hand on its back, trying to calm herself as well as her pet. Her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to reason with herself..._It could have been anything, maybe someone was getting firewood, or - or a rattata or - _

But she could hear footsteps crunching on the dry grass, too big and too many for rattata. Her lillipup began to growl softly. Terrified, Faith clutched her quilt to her chest, peering into the moonlight at the shadows creeping forward, slowly becoming clear in the moonlight as the forms of mightyenas. She gasped and her lillipup's growl grew louder. She held it tightly, trying desperately to quiet it.

The mightyenas prowled around the ring of wagons, sniffing at wheels and the ashes of the fire, crouching low to creep up on the unsuspecting tauros. One lifted its head and looked directly at Faith, who gave a tiny squeak of fear. As the mightyena began to stalk towards her, her lillipup broke free of her grip and bounded over the side of the wagon, barking ferociously. "Lillipup, no!" Faith whispered as loudly as she dared, reaching over the side, as if she could reach it.

She pulled the quilt over her head as she heard the yips and snarls from the darkness. For what seemed like an eternity, she quivered under the blanket, trying not to cry and wondering why no one else had woken up. After a long time, the heard a small thump next to her and started shaking even more violently, knowing that a mightyena was waiting to tear her apart. Some morbid curiosity compelled her to peek out beneath the quilt.

Her lillipup was curled up next to her again, its fur dirty and mussed up, but otherwise, completely unharmed. It wagged its tail when it saw her and licked her hand as she reached out to pet it. Tired again, Faith smiled with relief and stifled a yawn as she stroked the lillipup's ears.

She couldn't wait until morning...night wasn't always that peaceful after all.


	21. Pokemon Colosseum

Marius panted, taking a step back and wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes. His battered opponent struggled to his feet and limped from the arena, clearly in pain, but also relieved he had been spared. Marius took a few deep breaths and glanced around, wondering what his next fight would be. It was the emperor's birthday and on such a gala occasion, gladiators could be ordered to fight all day.

A rumbling indicated that the doors on the other side of the ring had opened. Marius squinted against the harsh sunlight, gripping his short sword a little tighter. The first door revealed a luxray, crackling with energy and lashing its spiky tail, looking like it hadn't been fed for several days. The other door released a pyroar, steam rising from its fiery mane. It was struggling valiantly against its handlers an eventually lashed out at one with a paw. The man flew several feet, crumpled and lay still.

The crowd erupted - some gasped, others laughed and still others jeered. Hungry for bloodshed and not much caring what kind of blood it was, several unintelligible chants broke out all along the stadium.

Marius smiled and resheathed his sword, reaching into the small pouch at his hip. No doubt they thought they would be getting rid of him like this, that he could never stand up to two such ferocious beasts. _Ha!_ He drew something out of the pouch and crouched down as if putting it on the ground, but when he stood up, there was nothing in front of him - nothing visible from the stands, anyway. Across the arena, the luxray and pyroar began stalking towards him, eyeing each other warily.

Suddenly, the ground shook violently, jarring spectators out of their seats and even toppling the emperor from his couch. Dust and pebbles seemed to levitate as the ground rumbled beneath them, cracking a few stones in the many archways of the stadium. Marius, who had braced himself against a wall, grinned as he watched the luxray lose its footing and crash to the ground just as the pyroar was pinned underneath a chunk of crumbling marble.

Then, the quake stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The crowd, silent and muttering as they tried to regain their balance, burst into outraged shouts when they saw Marius alive and well and the two vicious beasts immobilized, but unhurt. They had been expecting gore and their disappointment echoed of the stone walls.

Marius was still grinning as he bent down and quickly scooped something from the ground. "Good work, diglett!" He whispered excitedly before stowing the tiny pokemon safely in his hip pouch.


	22. Barking Up the Wrong Tree

George set his jaw determinedly and strode across the garden. He didn't care what his father said anymore, it was becoming more and more of a nuisance every day. Scaring away his bunnelby and the all the pidgeys...

He came to a stop in front of a small stunted tree, green only on its topmost branches. "I've asked you nicely," He said firmly, one hand hidden behind his back. "But now I'm _ordering_ you to leave. You can't stay here any longer, even if my father does believe you're really a tree."

The soodowoodo only giggled and stayed where it was.

"Then you leave me no choice," George took his hand out from behind his back to reveal a watering can clutched tightly in his small fingers. The soodowoodo's eyes widened, but it didn't move.

"You know, it's been awfully dry lately...the plants should really be watered more often." And with a barely contained smile, George upended the watering can over the top of the soodowoodo.

The pokemon squealed loudly and shook itself, trying to get the hated water off its body. When that didn't work, it ran away as quickly as it could on its stunted legs, shooting dark glares over its shoulder at the boy. George giggled as it disappeared from view, but abruptly stopped laughing when the shadow of his father fell over him.

"What happened to that little tree?" His father bent down in alarm to examine the spot. "George, you didn't have anything to do with this, did you?

George smiled, open and honestly. "I didn't do anything to any _tree_ in the garden."

His father eyed him suspiciously.

George met his gaze. "I cannot tell a lie."


	23. Eruption Disruption

A searing heat pierced the cool air as the rumbling crescendoed into a roar. Magma spewed into the sky, and came to earth on the cloth stalls, igniting them almost immediately in a blast of light and heat - sending the merchants inside them scurrying for safety, covering their faces with their arms and beating sparks out of their clothes. A thick ash filled the air, making it almost impossible to breathe without choking.

The marketplace had become absolute chaos. Disjointed screams could just be heard over the ongoing thundering as families desperately tried to find one another. Most stalls were either burning or knocked over, spilling their now-broken merchandise into the street. The ash still hung overhead, obscuring vision and clogging lungs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

The ash cleared slightly to reveal a rotund little man, trying to put out a small fire with his jacket. "I'm sorry, everyone, he doesn't usually get like this!"

The waving of his jacket thinned the ash even more and an enormous camerupt, much taller than the man, threw back its head and bellowed. Thick black smoke poured from its nostrils and lava ran down the shaking twin volcanoes on its back, smoking on its shaggy fur.

The man, Giancarlo, threw his singed jacket to the side and stroked the camerupt's muzzle, murmuring reassuring words. Slowly, the camerupt's eyes lost their crazed look, its eyelids drooped and the volcanoes on its back settled into stillness. "See?" Giancarlo turned to the marketplace. "He just doesn't like to get wet, is all, he's really quite - "

He was cut off by a sudden uproar of shouts. Some people were clamoring about their damaged goods, demanding retribution, while others moaned over their burns and scrapes, trying to nurse them as best they could. On all sides, Giancarlo was surrounded by an angry mob, furiously accusing him of causing panic and disruption the likes of which Pompeii had never seen before.

Giancarlo sighed and absentmindedly stroked his camerupt's flank, staring off into the distance at Mount Vesuvius. _Good thing that will never erupt..._


	24. Flower Power

"Make love, not war!"

Passerby glared briefly at the long-haired young woman with her arms full of flowers, irritated at her liberal barrage. Near her, a man in a paisley vest strummed a guitar while another boy beat a drum with no apparent rhythm. Occasionally, someone would mutter "hippies" or "get a haircut" but the motley group paid no mind.

The girl, Melody, took a deep breath and shouted again, "All people have a right to peace!" Someone flipped a coin at her feet. Someone else told her to get a job.

"Excuse me, miss," A police officer with a deep voice stopped in front of the group, towering over Melody. "I'm going to have to ask you and your friends to move along."

"We haven't done anything wrong, man," The guitar player piped up, silencing the strings with his hand.

The policeman nodded at the coin in front of them. "Soliciting funds. Can't do that here without a license."

"We don't want your money!" Melody kicked it away. "Money is a tool of the establishment, man, we're just trying to spread a little love. Does "the man" say _that's_ illegal too?"

The policeman looked uncomfortable. "Miss, if you'll just move somewhere else…"

"No way!" She shifted the flowers in her arms to jab a finger at his chest. "It's narcs like you who are keeping the war alive, man. If we can't show a little love, we'd all be like you - tools of corporate fascism and slaves to the establishment!"

The police officer's face hardened and he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "I tried to be nice, lady. We can talk downtown."

A small smile played on the corner of Melody's lips and she spread her arms wide, dropping her flowers on the sidewalk below. As they fell, however, the flowers shifted, changed, raised their heads…a sunflora, a roselia, a floette, a bellossom, and a lilligant now stood at attention at Melody's feet, glowering fiercely at the policeman.

A few minutes later, having cornered the cop several blocks away, the pokemon returned to Melody, who gathered them up into a bouquet once more. "Pretty groovy move," the guitar player intoned as he started to strum again. "Stick it to the man."

"Right on," Melody grinned.


	25. Kept in the Dark

Darkness.

In fact, more like a dimness - a gray, dusky absence of light, accented by London's ever-present fog, that, while not entirely pitch-black, was just as impossible to see through. Buildings loomed over the streets, casting shadows and making the spaces in between them seem positively sunny by comparison.

A rustle of skirts and clicking of heels, echoing off the walls of the otherwise deserted alley. Fast and closely spaced, whoever they belonged to was clearly in a hurry to get away - home, perhaps, or a pub...anywhere with light and warmth. Every now and then, the steps would pause and there would be a split-second of sound. An echo? Or another set of footsteps, moving in time with the first one?

A high, fluting, slightly panicked voice called out, "Hello?" but unlike the footsteps, it did not echo and was almost immediately swallowed up by the fog and the night.

The heels clicked on once again, even faster this time, accompanied by short gasps and frightened mumblings of "the Ripper". The strange echo, or the alternate set of footsteps, continued in perfect synchronization. At last, the heels stopped in front of a row of buildings and the jingling of keys could be heard as they were dropped several times from shaking hands. The brassy sound all but drowned out the soft, practically inaudible sound of quiet footsteps drawing nearer.

The keys were again dropped in panic and the breaths came shorter and more quickly as fingers fumbled for the correct key in the gloom. Barely suppressed sobs broke out every time a key rattled uselessly in the keyhole.

Suddenly, there was a flood of light.

Not the warm yellow light usually put off by the street lamps, but a cooler, dimmer light with a blueish tinge. It did not stretch far, but it was enough to illuminate the keyring and the door and with a sigh of relief, the correct key slid in and turned. The door opened for only a brief moment and then closed again, safely shutting out the darkness and the fog.

The lampent floated above the door for a few minutes longer, as if keeping watch. When nothing appeared, however, it dimmed its flame once more and drifted off into the night.


	26. Transcontinental Trade

"Sir, um, we've...got a problem."

Those were the last words Bernard wanted to hear. The small crowd that had already turned up for the occasion were milling around, fanning themselves in the heat, and looking interestedly at the two different trains that stood face to face on the tracks. Already, he had had to tell off a couple of kids for climbing on the engines and turn down several women who had asked for chairs. _Shouldn't have come out into the desert without bringing your own seats, ladies._ The president wasn't due to arrive for an hour or two yet, but there were still mutterings about him being late or perhaps not bothering to come at all. And on top of all this, there was this _problem._

Cursing quietly, he climbed down the makeshift podium and followed the worker towards where a small mob of other workers were crowded around something. The man who had fetched Bernard hurried forward. "It's okay, I got the supervisor!" The men stepped back, fanning out to reveal a scared, but defiant, gurdurr.

Bernard regarded it carefully. They had several different pokemon helping around the place, he didn't see why this one had caused such a fuss. "What's the problem?"

One of the workers piped up. "It's the beam, sir. The one the president gonna hammer in? He won't let go and can't none of us get it away from 'im."

At the words, the gurdurr clutched its steel beam even closer, its eyes darting wildly, as if looking for escape routes.

"Aren't there any others we could use?"

"Beams? No sir, not here. It would take us about a week to get new 'uns."

Bernard wiped his brow and checked his pocket watch. They only just had time to lay the beam down before the president arrived to hammer in the golden spike. And that was assuming they could get the beam away.

Suddenly, inspiration struck,

"Congratulations, my boy!" Bernard turned and shook the hand of the person nearest him, a wiry older boy with a bowler hat and a wispy beard. "This creature is now yours!"

The boy's jaw hung open.

"In fact," Bernard plucked the boy's hat off his head. "We'll trade for it!"

No sooner had he finished the sentence, than the gurdurr began to shake. It bulged and bent and, as the small crowd looked on, dumbfounded, transformed into a fully formed conkeldurr. It immediately dropped the beam to the ground and started lumbering off, away from the railroad.

There was a moment of stillness, then a flurry of activity as Bernard barked orders and the men scrambled to carry them out. As they dragged the beam to its proper place, Bernard watched the conkeldurr out of the corner of his eye and smiled. _Somebody better look out for their concrete_.


	27. Lunartic

Dr. Foster leaned back in her chair and yawned. "You ready to call it a day?"

Her lab assistant looked up from his microscope, blinking a couple of times and rubbing his eyes. "I think so. These aren't going anywhere until tomorrow."

Dr. Foster pulled on a latex glove and gingerly picked up the rock that had been sitting on her desk. There was no danger in touching it, as they had learned, but it was a force of habit for her when dealing with any rare specimen. She walked across the room and carefully deposited the rock on a shelf near all its brethren - twenty two kilograms worth.

"So, find anything interesting today?" She said as she tossed the glove into a trash can.

Her lab assistant shook his head. "Just more basalts and breccias, same as the others. No micro-organisms, no unknown elements…"

"Yes, you'd think rocks from the moon would be more exciting, wouldn't you?" She smiled. It was true that the rocks that Apollo 11 had brought back were nothing extremely unusual, but they were interesting in their own dusty way. But after weeks of painstakingly examining each specimen inch by inch, the novelty was beginning to wear off.

The two scientists left the lab, shutting off the lights behind them. For a long time, all was still and then, there was a movement from underneath one of the many desks. Then, another movement as several rocks were swept from their resting places and yet another as a small figure sprinted for the door.

No one saw the clefable as it disappeared into the night.


	28. A Second Chanse

_Dear Mom,_

_Don't worry, I'm okay. I know they must have sent you something about how I was injured, but it's not as bad as they made it sound. I got a couple of busted ribs and a pretty solid crack on the head, but I feel fine and they tell me I'll be home in a month or so._

_You probably want to know what happened, huh? Well I can't tell you too much (there is a war going on, you know) but I think I can give you some of the details. Me and my platoon were caught in a nasty thunderstorm, the rain coming down so thick we couldn't see our hands in front of our faces. So we got lost, stumbling around in the mud (that's how I broke my ribs, I fell down a really steep hill) and we heard gunfire. I'm still not sure whether it was our guys or not who were firing, it was so hard to see. A couple of the guys got grazed by some shots, but not that bad. They're in the hospital now with me. Still, I don't know what would have happened if a couple of medics hadn't found us and gotten us out of there. There were some pretty loud explosions that were closing in on us._

_So I'm okay and most of my platoon is okay too. It's kinda nice here in the hospital...nobody here is hurt too bad and since most of the boys here are getting sent home, like me, it's just about the happiest place I've been since I enlisted. The staff is really nice. In fact, the medic who pulled us out of the battlefield is here too. It's amazing what those chansey can do._

_Give my love to Dad and the kids. And please don't worry about me, I'll be home soon. _

_Your loving son,_

_Terence_


	29. The Walled Great

The emperor surveyed the landscape, taking in the huge gray wall that wound serpentine up and down the hills, accented here and there by a roofed outpost. In spite of himself, he gasped quietly, awed by the sheer magnitude of the barrier that stretched far beyond the horizon.

"More than ten thousand li long, sire," His royal councillor spoke from the emperor's side, his voice hushed, also overwhelmed by the enormous stone masterpiece. "Truly a testament to China's strength and steadfastness. Your ancestors would be proud."

The emperor nodded, still gazing into the distance where the wall disappeared into the mists.

The councillor took this as his cue to break off from the royal entourage and move to a small group of men who were prostrated on their knees in the presence of the emperor - the wall's top engineer and his partners. At a word from the councillor, the engineer rose shakily to his feet, still keeping his head bowed.

"Emperor Ming is most pleased at the results of your hard labor. What is your name, man?"

The engineer bent slightly, murmuring, "Thank you, Your Grace. Zan, Your Grace."

"Zan, you have brought honor to your family and your empire. You and your fellows shall receive royal commendations." And with that, the councillor strode back to the small group of royals admiring the view from the parapets.

Zan did not raise his head, but instead gazed at the stones below his feet, a small frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was worried, as he so often was that something would go wrong. Yes, the wall was finished now, complete and solid, but there was always the fear that -

At least the royals didn't know. No one did who wasn't a builder. The secret had been passed down from father to son, from family to family ever since the Qin dynasty. Hundreds of years and countless deaths of innocent toilers had preserved the secret well. But there was always the fear that the stones, which were, after all, only a sort of a cage, would crumble, always the fear that invaders would destroy them…

Always the fear that the giant onix slumbering beneath Zan's feet would awake.


	30. His Mago Opus

Niccolo sighed deeply, glaring at his blank canvas as if his eyes could make a masterpiece magically appear there. It had been almost three months since he had last sold a painting and if he didn't produce anything soon, he would starve or worse - he shuddered - be forced to find another job. No one would remember him as an artist and to Niccolo, this was far worse than death.

And it wasn't just that the other painters had rich patrons. Niccolo knew that the Medicis and other wealthy families wouldn't look twice at his work; they preferred the talents of greater artists and sculptors and Niccolo didn't blame them for this. His work may not grace the great halls of the rich, but there were those who quite enjoyed his style. No, it wasn't the other artist's patrons.

It was their smeargles.

It seemed that every artist had one, even those who sculpted rather than painted. The pokemon would touch up the tiny details they had missed, mix their color palettes for them and generally help produce the works of art that would sell for fortunes. Niccolo thought this was cheating, having something that would help you make art and never giving it credit. Then again, he never had a smeargle of his own...perhaps he was just jealous.

He sighed again, motivation slipping through his fingers once more. If only he had better colors...his meager funds didn't pay for the bright exuberant colors that he was fond of.

He felt a tugging at his hem and looked down. A small pansage sat back on his haunches looking curiously up at him.

Niccolo was at a loss. These things were usually considered a nuisance in the vineyards and were treated like a pest by almost everyone. But this one looked harmless enough and it seemed to be handing him something.

"A mago berry?" He knelt and took it. "These are hard to get...how…"

The pansage cocked its head and blinked.

The berry leaked deep pink juice that stained Niccolo's fingers. the color was so intense, so pure…

Inspiration struck him.

He stood up again, brain whirring. "Can you go get me a kelpsy berry? And a few wiki berries?"

The pansage squeaked happily and scampered off.

Niccolo squeezed the berry juice onto his palette and dipped his brush into it, humming cheerfully. Now that he thought about it again, it wasn't exactly cheating to have a helper around the workplace...


	31. Fox Hunt

The horns echoed again, still distantly, but closer than last time. The vulpix allowed itself one brief glance backwards as it streaked through the brush, and then summoned up a burst of speed, paws splashing through a shallow creek that trickled through the dirt. Only moments later, many more paws almost emptied the stream bed entirely, adding the spattering of water to a chorus of yips, howls and whines as the pack of houndours ran almost as one, hot on the scent of their quarry.

The vulpix didn't dare to look back again, didn't dare to slow down, despite its aching paws and hammering heart - it had been running without rest for almost twenty minutes and couldn't seem to shake the rest of the hunting party. Desperately, it squirmed its way into the middle of a dense thicket, hoping the dogs would be put off by the menacing thorns that surrounded it.

Shaking from fear and panting from exhaustion, it wrapped its tails around itself and curled up in a tight ball, closing its eyes and listening to the horns and the howls getting nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, it opened its eyes again. Something in the dirt was glinting red from the afternoon sun. The vulpix stood up and padded over to it, nudging it with its nose…

(-o-)

The hunting party was surprised as the houndours raced past them in the opposite direction, their stub tails tucked between their legs, whining and whimpering. Several members of the party laughed while others cursed in disappointment - without the houndours' sense of smell, the hunt was impossible.

"They might have seen an ursaring or something of the like that may have frightened them." Suggested one of the party, trying to conceal her smile.

"Perhaps," The master of the hunt took binoculars from his saddlebag and scanned the forest, trying to see what could have scared the dogs so, but the undergrowth was so thick, there wasn't much point. The only thing he could see was a ninetales in the distance, flicking its long tails in front of a dense thicket.


	32. The Prince and the Pawper

"And you think it'll work? No one will be able to tell?"

Nod.

The prince rubbed his chin. It was an unusual request, but he did often feel smothered by the court...he was tired of having to learn about the laws of the different provinces and tired of having the shallow princesses of neighboring kingdoms thrust upon him. On the other hand, he had heard rumors of the village girls and what they could do...he just had to find a way to not be recognized.

He sprang up from his throne. "Just a moment, I'll be back." He raced through the palace, slipping on the marble floors and catching himself with the large, ornate pillars scattered throughout. It took him a few twists and turns to reach the servants quarters and after carefully ensuring no one else was around, he crept in and rifled through a dresser.

He soon found what he was looking for - peasant's garb, shoddy, but clean. The kind that could disguise him, but not completely disgust him. He quickly slipped on the simple shirt and pants, stowing his royal suit in a large urn right outside the door. Then he raced back to the throne room.

"I think you're right," He said, a little breathlessly, as he re-entered. "This might work perfectly. None of the servants even bowed to me once I was in these clothes!" He grinned and admired himself for a second in the reflection of a brass shield hanging behind the throne.

Then he became serious. "Now, for your end of the bargain," He began counting on his fingers. "Firstly, try not to speak. Just nod and shake your head, no one will discipline you for it. Second, don't ever take an invitation from Gunther, I can't stand the man. Third, try and keep away from my old nurse, Winona...if anyone could tell the difference, she could. Understand?"

Nod.

The prince grinned again."Then I trust I leave the kingdom in good hands." He sauntered away, thinking of the taverns and the girls and the fun that awaited him in the village.

There was a gentle flash of light and what seemed an exact duplicate of the prince was left standing in the throne room.

Taking its place on the throne, the zoroark grinned too, showing all of its pointed teeth. It liked the palace. And it hoped the prince would like the village...because he was certainly not returning here.


	33. The Magic Words

**Hey, everyone, I know I've been gone a ridiculously long time and to tell the truth, I don't even have a good reason beyond sheer old fashioned laziness. I'm gonna try to be better about updating and it means a lot that you guys are still reading. Enjoy!**

* * *

He listened to the muffled clank of the chains, the gentle splash of the water and just barely audible beyond that, the gasps and murmurs of the crowd above. Now that he was safely out of sight, he let a huge smile break out over his face, though not daring to laugh, just in case he used his limited oxygen.

_It was just too easy,_ He thought, wiggling in his chains to get his hands free. _A whole dollar a person to stare at the water and convince yourself that fool is going to kill himself. _He grinned again. _Not to mention all the side bets to collect on._

The air was started to get a little thinner and a small stream of water was beginning to trickle through the edges of the trunk, but that was normal. It was early yet, no need to rush. He finally managed to squirm one of his hands free- no amazing lockpicking skills, despite the rumors-and reach into his pocket to retrieve his pokeball.

This was the only tricky part...it was, after all, pretty cramped in here, not much room to move, let alone have a pokemon in here with him. But it was only for a minute…

He pressed the button and instantly felt a shape in the darkness smush up against him, almost crushing him. He managed to gasp out "Teleport!" before the pokemon began thrashing in panic.

The darkness and chains fell away and he recognized the little pre-arranged thicket he had decided on before the show. In fifteen minutes, the trunk would be dredged up, empty and flooded and he would emerge from behind the crowd, unharmed and bone-dry.

_And the secret?_ He chuckled. _Why, the magic words, of course. Abra..._ He called the pokemon quietly back into its ball and tucked it into his pocket, next to the other ones. ..._Kadabra and Alakazam._

But that was another show.


	34. Blending In

"Come on, come on!" David did his best to usher the others forward, but it was difficult. They had been running through the woods all night, with the sounds of dogs and gunshots practically at their heels and a few of them were practically collapsing from exhaustion. But they were so close…

"The last safehouse is just a mile yonder, come ON!" David scooped up one of the children from Tilda's arms, to allow her to move a little faster. The child barely even noticed, just yawned and nestled into his chest, tiny fist tightening around a handful of his shirt.

It wasn't until the first faint light of dawn began to seep over the trees that they saw the cabin with the gentle glow of a candle in its window-a sign of the Railroad. Trying to keep to what shadows remained, they stepped cautiously to the back as a group and David rapped his fist twice on the door. It opened almost at once and a woman wrapped in shawls ushered them inside.

"The cellar, the cellar, they're right behind you, be here any minute!" She hurried them down the stairs and spared a brief smile at Tilda and the children before closing the door firmly behind her.

It seemed only minutes later that a loud pounding and shouting came from outside, a whole slew of voices demanding to be let in. David held his finger to his lips and crept back to the door to peek through the keyhole.

The woman opened the door andthe posse pushed past her, spreading out and tearing the house apart in their search for the runaways. They overturned furniture, tore down curtains and knocked on walls to see if they were hollow. David held his breath as one man neared the cellar door, but the man suddenly stopped, as if something invisible had blocked his path.

A few more minutes of searching and the men grudgingly gave up, spitting and cursing as they left the disheveled house. The mistress of the house closed the door behind them, double locking it before crossing to the cellar and whispering, "Everyone all right?"

"Yes," David replied "But how...they was right in fronna us!"

"I have a friend to help," The woman smiled and nudged her now-visible kecleon out of the way. "Neither one of us judges much on skin color."


	35. Miu-nique

Khemut touched the bare space above her eye and sighed deeply. Shaving one's eyebrows was a sign of respect, a symbol of mourning...but it did leave one looking slightly ridiculous.

She knew she was only thinking of these petty things to distract herself. It wasn't right to think such selfish vain thoughts, not when a sacred animal had died, but it was hard for her to face the truth. More than just a hunting companion, more even than a heavenly being, it had been her friend and pet and...and…

Her eyes began to blur with tears.

Her husband put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "_Nekhet_, darling, its in a better place, drinking milk at the feet of Bastet."

She nodded and dried her eyes, trying not to smear the kohl she had so carefully applied earlier.

They walked down the street to their modest family tomb, swapping memories of their beloved pet.

"Whenever we were near the river, the krokoroks would never dare approach, do you remember?"

"One time, it practically took on a full grown hippodown! By the gods, I was terrified!"

"Never mean or violent, though."

"Never. Sweet and gentle. Powerful, but gentle. Not like the kitten it had, now that was a nasty bit of work."

"I know, such a shame…"

They fell silent, having reached the tomb- a small and modest affair, but one they were grateful to have. Among the caskets and possessions of their ancestors stood a new sarcophagus, shinier, newer...and much much smaller, a tiny pink sculpture of a cats head on top. Khemut began to cry again and her husband held her tight, murmuring words of comfort.

Cats, _miu, _are sacred to all Egyptians, but their _miu_ had truly been one of a kind.


	36. Out But Not Down

"...and in game seven here, it seems that things might be turning around for the Pirates and the Boston Americans might be the first team to win the World Series."

As the words echoed across the arena, Phillipe tapped the bat against his cleat and wiped some sweat from his upper lip. How in the world was he supposed to concentrate when that kind of pressure was being heaped on him? Besides, they could still win this thing...there were two more games to go, this thing wasn't over yet!

He stepped up to the plate, crouching down slightly, hands opening and closing convulsively on the handle of the bat. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the catcher signalling the pitcher, but without turning his head, he couldn't make out what the sign meant. But it was nothing to worry about, right? This was a fair game, an equitable competition, an end to all the cutthroat tactics. A symbol of fair play that was going to make history! Surely they wouldn't risk all that for a cheap victory.

Still, his heart began to hammer in his chest.

The first pitch was a fairly normal curveball. Relieved, Phillipe swung too early and missed. "Strike one!"

Getting flustered now, he swung again at the next pitch, which was just slightly too high. "Strike two!"

He took a tighter grip on the bat, squared his shoulders and glared at the pitcher. He and his team had worked two hard to get here, he wasn't about to let them go home empty handed.

As the pitcher's arm extended, it was almost as if time had slowed down. Phillipe could see the ball flying through the air, coming right over the plate, right towards his bat...with the slightest little swing, he could knock it out of the park.

Then he saw the red.

It wasn't a white ball with red stitching, it was half white, half red - a voltorb, mad as thunder and about to explode.

Already halfway into his swing, he did the only thing he could think of and dropped the bat, turning away and shielding his face behind his arms.

The voltorb flew beautifully over the plate and right into the catcher's glove. The umpire managed to get out "Stri-" before there was a muffled _boom_ and he began cursing.

Phillipe stood up shakily and walked off the field accompanied by boos from the stand. Despite everything, he was smiling as he sat down in the dugout, even as his teammates muttered under their breaths and glared at him. There were worse things than losing a silly game


	37. A Shocking Conclusion

The wind howled as the raindrops fell fast and heavy, beating a staccato rhythm on the ground. Thunder started in the distance, quietly at first, then crescendoing into an almighty roar. The sky was practically black, illuminated only occasionally by forked bolts of lighting.

Ben looked around and took a deep, nervous breath.

He took the kite out from underneath his jacket and unwound the string, careful to keep the very end protected from the rain - what he was doing was dangerous enough without mixing electricity and water. More than he had to, anyway.

Then, gingerly, he drew small something out of his pocket, also shielding it from the rain. Another burst of lighting cast ghostly light on the klefki that lay battered and unconscious in his palm. _This may not work…_ Ben thought, carefully stroking the tiny pokemon's head. _But neither has anything else and we've got nothing left to lose._

Carefully, he fed the kite string through the klefki's loop and began to run, the kite trailing behind him. It was airborne almost immediately, but once in the sky, the wind began to whip it so violently, the tails made tiny snapping noises. It was all he could do to keep a hold on the string.

Lightning did not actually strike the kite - _And thank goodness, or I'd be fried to a crisp._ Ben tightened his grip. However, lightning was striking more and more rapidly all around them and he could feel the crackle of electricity in the air.

All at once, the rain stopped. The wind died down and the thunder quieted to a dull rumble in the distance. The kite fluttered down and Ben caught it, looking anxiously along the string for his klefki. When he touched it, he got a small shock, but he barely noticed as he took it off the string and cradled it in his hand.

It opened its eyes and jingled merrily at him.

He laughed out loud in relief. Others may have scoffed at his experiments, but electricity truly had been the key.


	38. Not All His Eggs in the Same Basket

It was early yet, but people were already starting to filter into the square. Some were accompanied by laughing children, others shouted loud jeers towards the platform and still others stood in somber silence, seeming to truly appreciate the grim nature of the occasion. But no matter their attitude, practically every one of them was having the same conversation.

"Gettin' what's comin' to 'im."

"Ain't that the truth."

"An' what about that masked man they're always goin' on about? The one that's rescuin' the royals? Think he'll show up?"

"Jus' a legend, ain't he?"

"Yeah, s'pose so…"

Fully half of the people gathered in the square were there to see if the stories of the mysterious traitorous hero were true and, if not to take action against him, then to simply tell their grandchildren that they had been there when it happened.

It was another fifteen minutes before a man stepped out on the platform and held up his hands for silence. The hubbub subsided and heads turned eagerly towards the platform (as well as the shadowy places surrounding it). Another man, well dressed in fine clothes that had been wrinkled and dirtied, was led out by the black hooded executioner and forced down onto his knees.

The first man unrolled a piece of paper. "For your crimes against France and her people, for your oppression of freedom, you are hereby sentenced to death by the guillotine." He rolled up the paper and stepped back again.

"Not much of a speech."

"He's on'y a duke, don't deserve much, do 'e?"

The executioner yanked the duke's head forward onto the infernal contraption, positioned the bloody basket carefully in front and then straightened up to pull the lever. The crowd held their breath expectantly.

Then, there was a bang, a puff of smoke, several screams from the front of the square and then, momentary chaos as everyone pushed everyone else to see what had happened.

When the smoke cleared, the platform was empty, save for the now overturned basket which was jittering erratically. A brave hand from the crowd reached out and turned it over to reveal -

A voice echoed from an indiscernible direction. "Consider that the only execution you will see today!"

The exeggcute on the platform seemed to grin on all its faces.

* * *

**A/N: I feel I should apologize for this one a little bit. It is about the French Revolution, but every movie or play I've ever seen about it always has actors with British accents. Hence, the cockney speech patterns I threw into this story.**


	39. In Its Own Time

The sunlight flickered through the leaves and the water burbled rhythmically through the gates of the lock and the wind whistled through the reeds and Toby sighed.

The timbers creaked on the line boat and the ropes thunked against the side of the canal and a train whistle sounded in the distance and Toby sighed louder.

"Sure, it's peaceful and all that, but dear LORD, is it tedious!"

The mudbray next to him flicked its ears in response.

Toby sighed a third time and rubbed the pokemon's neck, deep in thought. The job had been exciting at first - hoggee on a canal! Traveling to far off places, working outdoors every day...but when it came down to it, it was the mudbray who did the real work. It was the one who pulled the boat and all Toby would do was walk next to it, stopping it occasionally to let a lock fill up.

He wanted the exhilaration of wind on his face! The rush of adrenaline that came with high speeds and thrilling races! He loved his mudbray, but deep down, he sometimes longed for a rapidash to ride, one that could run so fast it almost looked like it could fly, flames from its tail streaming out behind it as it left others in its wake.

But...mudbrays were sturdy and strong, less likely to get strained or hurt pulling the heavy boats through the canal. They were the practical choice.

An idea came to him in such a flash that he cut himself off mid-sigh. The next lock was opening and the mudbray began to plod obediently forward, its harness tightening as the rope became taught.

Toby fished in his pocket and drew out a carrot. "What do you say we speed this up a little, eh?" He jogged a ways in front and dangled the carrot enticingly.

The mudbray glared at him, making no attempt to change its speed.

He walked back to it, disappointed, but not disheartened. "Come on, I've seen you gallop before, you can do it! Even a little trot will do!"

It snorted dismissively.

Frustrated, Toby gave it a solid smack on its flank, hard enough to get it going, but not hard enough to hurt. "Giddyup!"

Without so much as braying or slowing its pace, the mudbray lashed out its back legs and kicked Toby cleanly in the stomach, sending him flying over the line boat and splashing into the canal behind.

The mudbray resumed its pace, munching quietly on the carrot that Toby had dropped.


End file.
